


The Tale of the Nutcracker and the Boy With the Broken Heart

by CelestialVoid



Category: Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - The Nutcracker, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Fae & Fairies, Fairies, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, Work In Progress, sword fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Stiles’ grandmother gives him a gorgeous nutcracker that had once belonged to his mother. That night, Stiles finds himself caught up in a world of mystery and wonder as the Nutcracker comes to life and battles against the evils of the Mouse King, Deucalion.





	1. I.

The world outside was peaceful and quiet; the thin misty cloud rolling through the garden, consuming the trees and submerging them in a tranquil oblivion.

Stiles felt his mind drift as he stared out into the gardens, the grey silhouettes of large trees, hedges and rose bushes breaking through the fog. He watched as the droplets of falling rain struck the window, scintillating like diamonds as they caught the light of the setting sun that broke through the clouds. The rain bled together into glistening silver ribbons and coursing streams of water that trailed down the window.

Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest and let out a heavy sigh, letting his head lull to the side until his temple rested against the cool, misted glass.

There was a quiet squeak as the library door opened.

Stiles bolted upright, frantically wiping away the numb tear that caressed his cheek, sniffing quietly as he blinked back his tears and turned to look at the figure that stepped into the large room.

“Hey, sweetie,” his grandmother whispered as she crossed the room and sat down with him in the small alcove by the window. “Are you alright?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m fine,” he lied.

His grandmother looked at him sceptically but she didn’t push it any further. She sighed and let her weary brown eyes drift into the oblivion beyond the window.

“I miss your mother,” she admitted.

“So do I,” Stiles confessed, fighting back his tears. He felt his chest tighten, a strange absence leaving a gaping hole in his heart. He paused, listening to the muffled arguments from down the hall. “Grandpa blames my dad, doesn’t he?”

Stiles watched as his grandmother’s eyes filled with guilt, shame and pain as she muttered, “Ten years… I haven’t seen you in ten years because he refused to see your father…:

“And now that we’re here, they won’t stop fighting,” Stiles said dryly, looking across the room at the far door and listening to the trailing whispers of raised voices.

“Your grandfather and John… they never got along,” his grandmother explained. “Your grandfather thought your father wasn’t good enough for our daughter and he despised the thought to them being together. But they were in love; they got married and had you, and they were happy. That’s all that mattered.”

“He’s better now,” Stiles argued, his voice full of desperation and pain. Stiles felt his eyes fill with warm tears, his vision blurred by streaks of colour and flashes of light. He stammered over his words, fighting back his tears as he said, “He got help. He doesn’t drink anymore and he never gets angry. He’s a good man.”

He sniffed back his tears and rubbed at his cheeks with his damp sleeve.

“I know,” his grandmother said softly, reaching over and resting her hand atop of Stiles’. After a moment, she straightened her back. “Tell you what…” Her voice trailed off as she rose to her feet and shuffled across the room to where a large Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room, its branches decorated with ornaments that hung among the thin pine needles She crouched down and picked up one of the presents that sat beneath the tree, a dark blue box with a glittery silver ribbon wrapped around it. “I’ll let you open your present early.”

“But Christmas is tomorrow,” Stiles protested as his grandmother returned to his side.

“I know,” she said with a sweet but mischievous smile. “But this can be our little secret.”

Stiles smiled weakly as he took the box that she held out before him. He gently pulled at the ribbon, watching the silver bow unfurl. He opened the lid and looked at what was inside. Laying amongst the soft white tissue paper was an old wooden nutcracker.

Stiles gasped as he looked down at the nutcracker. He carefully reached into the box and brushed his fingers across the smooth wood, feeling the fine grooves of the grain and admiring the bold blue soldier’s uniform – a detail that struck him considering most nutcrackers wore red or gold – and the dark beard that was painted onto his square jaw. Stiles stared at his face, at the highlighted cheekbones and the glittering depths of the nutcracker’s aventurine eyes.

A sweet smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he looked up at his grandmother with tear-filled eyes.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“He used to be your mother’s,” his grandmother told him.

Stiles looked down at the nutcracker again, looking down at the face that seemed so real.

He opened his mouth to say something when the voices from down the hallway grew louder, closer.

“I’m only here for Stiles!” he heard his father shout. “And he doesn’t seem to want to be here and you clearly don’t want us here, so we might as well leave.”

The doors to the library flew open wide with a loud bang. His father barged into the library, followed by Stiles’ grandfather.

His grandfather’s eyes fell on the box in Stiles’ hands, on the nutcracker inside of it.

“What is that?” his grandfather growled, his icy blue eyes burning with rage as he glared at the present. “You gave him a doll?”

“It’s a nutcracker,” his grandmother corrected. “Claudia’s nutcracker.”

“It’s a doll!” his grandfather bellowed. “Boys don’t play with dolls. Do you want him to end up like one of those… one of those queers?!”

The old man lunged forward and wrenched the box out of Stiles’ hands. He hurtled it across the room.

The box struck the mantle, toppling to the ground with a loud crack. The nutcracker rolled out of the box and into the crackling fire. The wavering flames consumed the tissue paper and dragged their way towards the nutcracker.

Stiles felt his heart lurch into his throat, his gut twisting as he leapt to his feet and sprinted across the room. He dropped to his knees and pulled the nutcracker from the fire, frantically brushing away the ash and smothering the cinders that glowed against the charred wood.

Smears of black covered his bold blue uniform and his arm hung limp by his side; dislocated from his shoulder.

Stiles felt tears well in his eyes. He pulled the box from the ash and pushed the tissue paper into the flames. He cradled the nutcracker close to his chest, feeling his racing heart slam against his ribs. He ignored the howling voices behind himself as his father and his grandfather began to fight again while his grandmother tried to calm them down. He laid the nutcracker down in the box and carefully carried him out of the library.

He snuck out of the room, unnoticed, and made his way back to his room.

He shut the door behind himself and laid the box down on the soft blanket that covered his bed. He rummaged around the room, trying to find something he could use to repair the nutcracker. He spun around in circles until his eyes fell upon the box of tissues that sat in the corner of the room. He pulled out one of the tissues and folded it into a triangle before tying it around the nutcracker’s broken arm.

He sat back and admired his work. He let out a heavy sigh as he looked into the nutcracker’s glittering aventurine eyes. He let out a heavy sigh and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

 

 

Stiles tossed and turned, kicking at the sheets that coiled around his legs.

The arguments had died down a few hours ago and his grandmother had managed to convince his father to stay overnight at spend Christmas with them and their guests, but even as the quiet had settled and the house had been plunged into the dark of the night, Stiles was still restless; he couldn’t sleep.

With a heavy sigh, he kicked his feet free of the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet landed on the soft carpet of his room. He rose from the bed and collected the small blue box with the nutcracker in it. He made his way out of his room and down the hallway towards the large library.

It was an extravagant room, the walls covered in large mahogany shelves that were full of old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

The shelves covered all the walls, large ladders on casters were scattered about the room where the occupants had last left them. Higher up, there was a small platform that stretched around the room, a mezzanine that allowed them to access another storey of bookshelves that the ladders couldn't reach. High above everything was a dome-like sky light, the slightly misted glass allowing the golden light of day to fall into the large library.

On the far side of the room was a small fireplace with a marble mantelpiece. Atop the mantelpiece sat a few of the sturdier-looking books, some candles and little reindeer ornaments that his grandmother brought out ever Christmas. The stockings hung over the fireplace in the living room, but the mantle of the library fireplace had a garland strung across it.

Stiles crossed the room over to the seat in the large bay window, crawling up onto the plush cushions and curling up in the corner. He set the box with the nutcracker in it beside himself and pulled his knees up to his chest.

He watched as the stars danced across the sky, shimmering as they drifted across they inky blackness.

He felt the cold air from outside seep in through the window, misting the glass.

He heard the grandfather clock across the room chime, the sound startling him and making his heart race, but he didn’t take his eyes away from the night sky. His gaze was locked on the expansive darkness beyond the windows, the immeasurable universe that left him feeling so small, and the longer he looked, the smaller he felt; as if he were shrinking away from the windows and away from the world around him.

It was only when he heard a loud shriek did he turn around, his eyes growing wide as they fell on the sight before him: the violent battle between tin soldiers and mice that were the size of men.

The soldiers’ heavy boots thumped against the wooden floorboard as they marched towards the mice. The rodents charged forward, tackling a few tin soldiers to the ground and biting into their limbs while other tin soldiers were knocked to the ground and trampled by the rampaging creatures. 

Behind their ranks, a large grey rat stood proud, his mouth pulled back in a cynical smile that exposed his jagged, rotting teeth. Patches of his ratty fur had been torn away, exposing flesh and scars, but the most noticeable thing about him was his pale grey eyes that caught a glint of red in the light and the small crown that sat, lopsided and crooked, atop his head.

Stiles watched as the mice rose up on their hind legs and slashed at the soldiers with their claws or grabbed a hold of their necks and wrenched them to the side with gut-wrenching cracks, letting the bodies of the tin solders crumble to the library floor.

The library became a slaughter house: soldiers were impaled by small swords and torn to shreds by the army of mice, their limp, lifeless bodies tossed aside as the mice tore through their ranks.

Stiles froze. His heart thumped in his ears as bile rose into his throat.

His mind screamed at him to run, but his body felt numb. His feet began to move beneath him as he slowly walked forward, drawn towards the onslaught as if it were a twisted nightmare.

A mouse ran towards him, it’s arms raised high and its teeth bared. It screeched and growled as it drew closer, saliva dripping from its mouth like a feral creature. It halted midway, its body frozen in shock as a small droplet of bright red blood dripped from its mouth. Stiles’ eyes fell to the pointed end of a sword that was protruding from the mouse’s chest. Its limbs jerked as the sword was torn free of its corpse and the dead mouse collapsed to the floor.

Behind him, a soldier in a bold blue uniform stood victorious.

Stiles slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes falling on the soldier’s wooden limbs, one arm resting in a sling, and the charred fabric of his uniform. He looked up at the soldier’s face: he had short black hair and a shadow of a beard dusting his firm jaw. His wide-set eyes were pale beneath his dark brows, his sparkling irises shifting colour in the light; from hazel to pale aventurine, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused, darkened by the lingering shadows beneath them.

The Nutcracker.

He was calm and composed and focused as he looked down at Stiles.

“Run,” he said, his voice deep and husky as it rolled through Stiles, melting the ice in his veins. “Run and hide.”

He didn’t wait to see Stiles’ reaction; he adjusted his grip on his sword and ran back into battle.

Stiles flailed about, stumbling backwards. His feet hit the ground. He used a hand to steady himself, leaping to his feet and tearing into the darkness. His legs pedalled beneath him, staggering and aching as he struggled not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the massacre.

He ran towards the large tree and skidded to a halt below one of the lower branches.

Realisation struck him as he looked at his reflection in one of the glossy baubles: the mice were not as large as men; he was as small as a mouse.

He sprinted into the shadows beneath the enormous Christmas tree and crouched behind one of the presents, peering around the edge of the box as he watched the Nutcracker charged into battle, wielding his sword with precision and skill despite only being able to use one arm.

“Deucalion!” the Nutcracker howled above the deafening calamity of the battle.

The old rat with the crown on his head spun around, his face contorted with rage as he looked down at the Nutcracker. He let out a deafening screech and the army of mice began to retreat towards the hole in the skirting board.

The Nutcracker tightened his grip on his sword, kicked up his heels and ran after them.

“Hey,” Stiles shouted across the room, scrambling to his feet and sprinting out from the shadows beneath the tree. “Wait!”

Stiles felt his legs ache in protest as he ran faster, tripping over the hem of his pyjama pants as he sprinted across the library. His bare feet slapped against the polished hardwood floors as he forced himself to run faster after the fleeting image of the Nutcracker and into the darkness beyond the hole in the skirting board.


	2. II.

Stiles set one foot in front of the other, his bare feet finding ground among the abysmal darkness. He shuffled forward, one step at a time, his heart beating against his ribs and his breath shallow wisps of air that played across his lips as his eyes tried to see through the darkness.

He took another step forward, the ground giving way beneath him.

A scream fell past his lips as he fell, his body drifting weightlessly through the air. He tumbled about in the air, feeling a rush of something cold up the back of his shirt as his side slid against something solid.

Clouds of white blinded him as he slid down the slope. The darkness was broken by a brilliant light as Stiles toppled out of the slope and landed in a cushion of snow.

He let out a strangled moan, the sound muffled by the snow.

His body ached, his skin burning where the cold ice touched his bare flesh.

Stiles pulled himself upright and squinted against the glaring light, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to world around him. His jaw fell slack as he looked around. He stood in a cavern, the walls around him made of gleaming sheets of translucent ice that looked like glass; small fractals and stalactites glistening like the crystals that hung from a chandelier.

He felt an icy chill run down his spine as the cold air rolled over him, prickling at his skin until he was covered in goosebumps.

He hugged himself, running his hands up and down his bare arms as he looked down at himself. He was dressed in an old pair of blue plaid pyjama pants and one of his father’s old BHPD training shirts. His bare feet sunk into the soft cushion of snow, the blankets of white crunching with every step.

He lifted his gaze and looked around, his eyes focusing on the distant figures that seemed to fade into the distance.

Stiles put one step in front of the other, making his way through the snowy wonderland.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles gasped and spun around, looking at the source of the voice.

The Nutcracker.

Stiles blinked, stunned. HIs lips quivered as he tried to find the right words.

“It’s too dangerous for you to be here,” the Nutcracker said, looking at the young man with deep concern. “You should go home.”

“I don’t think I can,” Stiles said, shocked at the sound of his own voice. “I mean, look at me. I’m—”

“Shrunk,” the Nutcracker finished. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulder falling as he exhaled. “Okay. But stay close, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Stiles nodded and trudged through the snow towards the Nutcracker.

The swirling flurries of snow fell around them, small figures emerging from between the snowflakes.

Stiles squinted to look at them.

They were small but looked like humans, their slender limbs as pale as the snow and moving elegantly as they danced through the air. Their bodies were drapes in flowing robes; billowing blue capes that hung from their shoulders and dipped below their wings, white dresses covered in crystals and delicate silver designs, and cloth-like boots that were strapped up to their knees. Translucent veiny wings fluttered behind them, keeping them aloft as they began to dance and twirl around Stiles.

Stiles let out a soft chuckle, listening to the chiming icicles and the soft sound of the melody that the ice sprites sung as they danced about.

They twirled around his limbs, the flurries of snow bending to their will as it began to blend together.

As the snow cleared, he looked down at himself.

He wore a vibrant white suit, the jacket made of a fabric that had a detailed silver vine-like pattern. The collar of his jacket and the tabs of his shirt collar were decorated with glistening crystals and glossy silver beads.

Stiles blinked, stunned. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the suit, his eyes focusing on the Nutcracker who stood before him, his eyes wide and staring at Stiles in amazement.

“You look…” the Nutcracker’s words fell away, his glittering eyes focused on the young man.

Stiles smiled sweetly, a rosy pink blush colouring his pale, mole-speckled cheeks.

The conversation was interrupted as their attention was drawn towards the ice sprites. The began to move together, twirling through the air in glittering patterns before blending together. They flew at the cavern walls, breaking through the ice with a radiant explosion.

As the light faded it revealed a doorway into the world beyond, a glimpse of green land and blue skies.

The Nutcracker cleared his throat, taking a second to compose himself as he said, “We should… We should get going.”

Stiles nodded. He felt a great weight lifted form him as his feet rested atop the blankets of snow, one step set in front of the other as he and the Nutcracker made their way through the snowy cavern and towards the glimpse of green at the end of the tunnel.

Every step Stiles took melted the blanket of snow, bringing life back to the cold earth as lush green grass and blossoming flowers broke through the ice. Clusters of frail, colourful wildflowers blossomed, their petals unfurling as Stiles walked further away.

 

 

Stiles stepped into the glaring light of day, looking out across the land. The azure blue sky stretched to the horizon, thin wisps of white clouds drifting on the breeze. The faded hillsides sat in the distance, drifts of snow clinging to the bluffs like lace laid over the rocks. The rich green pine trees filled the countryside, filling the air with their crisp scent. A crystal-clear stream cut through the sloping mountainside, the water reflecting the sky above.

“Welcome to Parthenia,” the Nutcracker said quietly.

“It’s wonderful,” Stiles whispered breathlessly.

“It won’t before much longer if Deucalion has his way,” the Nutcracker said, a sharp edge to his voice.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, looking up at the Nutcracker.

“The Mouse King, Deucalion… He wants to destroy this land and enslave the kingdom’s people. He will leave this world in ruins.”

“Surely someone can stop him,” Stiles insisted. “You can stop him.”

“I can’t,” the Nutcracker replied solemnly. He turned and began to walk down the sloping path that was cut into the side of the mountain.

“But I saw you fighting in the library,” Stiles objected, following after the Nutcracker. “You can fight him. You can stop him.”

“I can’t,” the Nutcracker repeated. “I’m not strong enough. But there might be someone who can stop Deucalion: the Fae Prince.”

“The Fae Prince?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The fae are a powerful race but the Fae Prince is the most powerful of all of them. He’s a warrior and the ruler, a good man. If anyone can stop Deucalion, it’s him. He’s out last hope,” the Nutcracker said, a hint of hope and admiration in his voice. “But no one has seen him for ten years. Everyone believes he’s dead, that the Mouse King killed him and took his sceptre.”

Stiles thought back to the battle in the library, remembering the golden sceptre with the large blue sapphire that had been clasped in the Mouse King’s hands.

“I’ve been searching for him,” the Nutcracker continued. “But I can’t find him.”

Stiles braced himself against the trunk of a large oak tree as he clambered down the large stone steps. “Well, I’ll help you,” he offered. “I mean, it’s not like I can return home; not like this.”

The Nutcracker turned to look at him. “If we find the Fae Prince, he might be able to help you.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Stiles said, flashing a charming yet mischievous smile.

The Nutcracker turned away, but Stiles caught a glimpse of the small smile that played across his lips.

The two of them continued down the winding path that snaked through the labyrinth of trees. The Nutcracker led the way through the forest while Stiles followed, his eyes rolling over the plants that dwelled among the undergrowth: ferns, wildflowers, low growing bushes and shrubs.

The usual rich greens and tones of brown, gold and red of the forest were darkened by the shadows cast by the dull light that broke through the foliage, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Streams of golden light surrounded them, not enough to see clearly but just enough to distinguish shapes from shadows and to guide their way through the forest.

Twigs and leaves rustled and broke beneath their feet. Fallen branches snagged at his ankles, scratching at the skin beneath their pants and drawing small droplets of blood.

Ahead of them, the light of day broke through the forest.

They stepped into the clearing and looked downhill to where a small town sat.

Stiles’ heart sank into his gut as his eyes fell upon the ruins of the town. All that remained was a mess of fallen buildings: splintered wood, rubble and boulders that were piled where once-proud-standing guard towers, pillars, fences and houses had been. The ground had been upturned and blown away into craters.

The once magnificent buildings had caved in, rubble and debris stacked upon itself inside the limits of the few upstanding walls like oats in a bowl.

His breath caught in his lungs. He swallowed hard as bile rose into his throat, burning at his oesophagus as he fought back tears.

The village was nothing more than a mess of smoking houses and crumpled buildings.

Stiles felt numb, his legs moving beneath him as he took a few steps forward. He heard a crunch beneath his foot and froze, his heart lurching into his throat. He gasped, his lips trembling and tears falling past his thick eyelashes and he glanced down at his foot. He slowly moved his foot, revealing the painted wooden body of a doll.

He crouched down and picked it up, fitting the broken arm back into the socket. He held onto the toy, his heart aching as he looked up at the smoking ruins of the village.

He slowly rose to his feet and made his way through the ruins, stumbling as his feet scuffed the dirt and the piles of ash, stirring up clouds of dust.

The bitter stench of ash and burnt gingerbread filled his nostrils, suffocating him and stinging his eyes.

“What is this place?” Stiles gasped.

“This is the Gingerbread Village,” the Nutcracker answered, his expression sullen and his eyes full of heartbreak as he walked through the devastated town. “Or, at least, it _was_.”

Stiles heard something shuffle among the ruins. He whipped his head around and looked among the shadows. He slowly took a step closer, peering into the dark shadows where he saw a small, cowering figure.

“Hi there,” he said softly, taking a step forward. “Are you okay?”

The child sniffled.

Stiles crouched and held out the small wooden doll. “Is this yours?”

The little boy nodded. He slowly crept forward out of the shadows. His face was smeared with ash and his golden curls were dirty with soot. His glittering blue eyes darted from the doll to Stiles as he reached out and took the wooden doll from Stiles.

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice quiet and inviting.

“Isaac,” the boy mumbled.

“Nice to meet you, Isaac,” Stiles said softly. “I’m Stiles. Do you know what happened here?”

“The Mouse King attacked,” Isaac explained, sniffing back sobs. “My brother told me to run and hide so I did and when I came back everyone was gone and the village was burnt to the ground…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he added, “This is all Prince Derek’s fault.”

“Prince Derek?”

“The son of the king who ruled before Deucalion took over,” the Nutcracker explained. “He wasn’t much of a prince, though. When the king died, he left the throne to his Royal Advisor, Deucalion, until such time as the prince could prove himself worthy, but Deucalion decided he wanted to rule.”

“So what happened to Prince Derek?” Stiles asked.

“He’s…” The Nutcracker hesitated. “He’s gone.”

“He ran away and left us all to suffer,” Isaac growled.

“It’s not safe here,” the Nutcracker said abruptly. “We should go.” He looked at Isaac. “We’ll travel together until we can find somewhere safe for you to stay.”

Stiles looked at the Nutcracker quizzically, his brow furrowed as his mind ran wild. After a moment, he shook his head, letting the thoughts die away as he reached out for Isaac. He lifted the boy into his arms and turned to follow the Nutcracker as he marched out of the ruins of the village.


	3. III.

“Sire,” the guard addressed, bowing deeply as he approached the extravagant throne.

Upon the throne, a large figure sat hunched over, his spindly fingers toying absentmindedly with the elegant golden sceptre in his grasp. His talon-like nails scratched at the metal, tracing the coils of gold that were wound into vines that twisted their way around the pole, sprouting leaves around the glistening blue sapphire that sat at the end.

“I bring news from the Guard,” the mouse said, not daring to look up at the King. “The Nutcracker has escaped.”

Deucalion’s eyes snapped up, glowing red as they pierced the shadows.

“And… And he’s looking for the Fae Prince,” the mouse stammered.

“What?” Deucalion growled.

The guard swallowed hard, bowing his head to avoid his king’s eyes.

“Well, we’d better put a stop to his plans,” Deucalion seethed as he rose to his feet. He coiled his talon-like fingers around the sceptre and pointed towards the large decorative pillar on the far wall. “ _Rock that will walk, destroy whom I seek; carnage and havoc will be yours to wreak!_ ”

The sapphire at the end of the staff glowed a vibrant blue and across the room, the thick marble of the pillar cracked, fissures spreading and coiling around the column. Fragments of rock began to fall to the ground, rolling across the smooth tiles before rolling back together and forming the shape of a man; a rock golem.

The golem turned, rock grinding against rock as it tilted its head, confused.

“Find the Nutcracker,” Deucalion ordered, “and destroy him.”

The golem turned, lifting one heavy foot and then the next as it marched out of the hall and into the cool air.

Deucalion turned, his cold glare focused on the mouse guard as he said, “Follow him.”

The guard nodded frantically and scurried after the rock golem.

Deucalion slumped back down in his throne, a wicked smirk playing across his lips.

 

 

Isaac mumbled something quietly as he tucked his head into the curve of Stiles’ shoulders, his heavy eyes falling shut as he fell asleep in the young man’s arms.

Stiles tilted his head to the side, resting his cheek against Isaac’s sandy blonde curls. He readjusted his hold on the boy slightly, cradling him closer as they made their way down the old dirt path which wove its way through the trees.

The Nutcracker turned to look at them, his eyes shimmering as a small smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Hey!”

The shout shattered the quiet.

Stiles and the Nutcracker spun around.

A mouse in the plated armour of the royal guard charged towards them.

“Run,” the Nutcracker shouted to Stiles, drawing his sword as he stood between the mouse and Stiles.

Stiles stumbled slightly, his legs frozen in fear while his mind screamed at him to run.

The Nutcracker fought the mouse off, their blades crashing against each other. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles.

“I said run!”

Stiles took another step back but froze again.

The mouse took advantage of the Nutcracker’s dropped defences, sliding the tip of his sword along the Nutcracker’s arm and knocking the hilt of his sword from the man’s grasp. He swung the sword back again, the steel blade tearing through the soft wood of the Nutcracker’s arm.

“No!” Stiles shouted.

The mouse guard froze as a piercing whistle tore through the air. The tip of an arrow tore through leather armour and flesh as the steel tip impaled him. He froze, swallowing hard as his body began to tremble and blood gushed from the wound; soaking his fur. He lowered his gaze to the arrow that jutted out from his chest, his lips quivering as he looked back up at the Nutcracker and Stiles. His dark eyes misted over as his body collapsed to the ground, his sword falling from his hand and the thin arrow shaft jutting from his chest.

They turned around, their eyes focused on a young woman, her hands holding a bow, an arrow notched and the string pulled taut.

Derek grabbed his sword and leapt forward, putting himself between Stiles and the archer.

Stiles cradled Isaac closer to his chest, cupping the back of his head and whispering to him softly as the boy began to stir.

“Who are you?” the archer shouted, her dark eyes focused on them.

“I am the Nutcracker and this is Stiles and Isaac,” the Nutcracker introduced. “We are victims of the Mouse King’s magic and we are no threat to you.”

“What are you doing walking about the woods?” the archer asked.

“We’re on our way to the shore,” the Nutcracker answered. “We need to cross the Sea of Storms.”

The archer scoffed. “Why the hell would anyone want to cross the Sea of Storms?” she asked. “Have you got a death wish or something?”

“No,” the Nutcracker replied. “We’re trying to find the Fae Prince; he’s the only one who can defeat the Mouse King and fix everything.”

The archer laughed dryly. “The Fae Prince? That’s a fairy tale.”

“It’s the truth,” the Nutcracker insisted. “Prince Derek told me so himself.”

“Prince Derek?” the archer scoffed. She lowered her bow, letting the string fall slack. “Prince Derek is the reason we’re in this mess. If he were half the man his father was then the Mouse King wouldn’t be destroying our land and our homes and turning everyone into statues.”

“Allison,” a young man called out, his voice calm and level as he walked up behind the archer. “You’re forgetting that Prince Derek was my friend.”

The archer – Allison – turned to look at the young man. “You can’t blame me for your poor choice in friends, Scott.”

Scott drew in a deep breath, composing himself and hiding his pain as he looked at Allison and calmly said, “Regardless, what they’re saying might be true. I did once overhear the King telling Prince Derek about the Fae Prince, a powerful ruler of fairy kind.” He paused for a moment. “Allison, we’ve tried everything else. We can’t beat Deucalion on our own. We need help.”

Allison drew in a deep breath and thought about it for a moment. She glanced over at the Nutcracker. “And you believe that this Fae Prince is across the Sea of Storms?”

“Yes,” the Nutcracker replied.

Allison let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Very well. We’ll take the boy back to the shelter; Melissa can take care of him. Then the four of us will set out to find the Fae Prince.”

“Thank you,” the Nutcracker said softly.

 Allison gave him a curt nod before turning to walk down the path.

Stiles and the Nutcracker began to follow.

Scott remained where he was, waiting until the Nutcracker reached his side.

“You spoke to Prince Derek?” he asked quietly.

The Nutcracker nodded.

“Do you know what became of him?” Scott asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

The Nutcracker bowed his head, his shimmering aventurine eyes darkening as he said, “The Mouse King destroyed him… I’m sorry.”

Scott bowed his head for a moment. He exhaled and nodded before following after Allison.

Stiles stayed by the Nutcracker’s side, waiting until Scott was out of earshot before asking, “Why did you lie to him?”

The Nutcracker’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t think you can lie to me, Derek,” Stiles said lowly.

The Nutcracker’s eyes widened. “How did you-?”

“It was something in your voice, something in the way you talk about Prince Derek; it’s like you’re ashamed but reminiscent,” Stiles explained. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“I didn’t want to be the prince when I can the chance and now I don’t deserve to be,” Derek replied.

“That’s not true,” Stiles objected. “You’re risking your life to save your kingdom, fighting to save your people, isn’t that what princes do?”

“My subjects think I’m worse than Deucalion. They think I’m a coward and a betrayer, a child who doesn’t deserve the throne. My only hope is to find the Fae Prince so that he can help restore my people’s happiness and save them from his nightmare. I owe them that much.”

 

 

The hooves of the horses thumped against the ground as the group rode towards the shore.

Allison pulled up on her reigns, her horse letting out a quiet whiney as it pulled up on the spot, hopping about as it turned and Allison looked over the crashing waves of the Sea of Storms.

Stiles pulled up beside her, his heart lurching as he swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat. “ _That_ ’s the Sea of Storms? We have to cross that?”

“You don’t have to come,” Allison said softly, casting a worried gaze at Stiles.

Stiles was taken aback slightly by her concern; a stark difference from her stern composure before. “No,” Stiles stammered. “I need to do this.”

Allison nodded and said, “Scott and I will make one of those old boats sea worthy. You two can gather supplies, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, dismounting and tethering his horse near the others.

The Nutcracker stepped over to Stiles’ side and whispered, “Come with me.”

Stiles turned and followed Derek as he made his way down the path and over the crest of the hill. They stepped down into a valley where the grass was dry and brown, crumbling to dust beneath their feet.

“There used to be a well over here,” Derek mused as he walked across the valley. He paused, looking down at the metal grate that was covered in dirt and rocks. He crouched down and brushed them aside. “Here it is. Someone must have capped it.”

He drew his sword from its sheath and wedged the tip of the blade into the small gap where the metal cap met the edge of the well. He pushed down on the sword and pulled the metal seal free.

Stiles reached forward and pulled the metal grate away from well.

There was a harmony or chortling as a group of fairies burst into the open air.

A few broke away from the spiralling flight and danced about the Nutcracker, speaking quietly to him.

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion as he listened to them talk, the words sounding so familiar.

“What are they saying?” Stiles asked quietly.

“They say the Mouse King’s army destroyed the valley and trapped them in the well,” the Nutcracker translated.

The fairies turned and looked at Stiles. They began to whistle and chortle as they flew towards him, spiralling and dancing gracefully around him.

Stiles watched as his crisp white suit began to change, the colour fading into hues of blue, green and aqua; the silver beading and stitched patterning of vines and spirals standing out vibrantly.

Stiles smiled, looking from his suit to Derek’s stunned expression.

“What?” Stiles asked, a nervous hint of fear in his voice.

“They say you look beautiful,” Derek explained, glancing at the fairies that danced about the two of them. “And…” Derek stammered over his words as he confessed, “I’m inclined to agree.”

A sweet smile played across Stiles’ lips as his mole-speckled cheeks were coloured with a soft, rosy-pink blush.

The flurry of fairies drifted away, swirling through the air and across the land. The dry blades of grass were revived, creating a blanket of emerald green that stretched across the valley. Clusters of little purple wildflowers, blooming lilies and orchids added bursts of colour to the land. The dry skeleton of trees spring to life, their branches full of leaves and blooming fruits.

A ripe red apple fell from one of the branches, clunking as it struck Derek on the head.

Stiles smothered his laughter as he looked over to Derek.

Derek picked the apple up off the ground and looked at Stiles. He shrugged and smiled as he said, “Supplies.”

Stiles chuckled. He reached up and plucked an apple from the branch that hung over his head. He reached up for another apple, his fingers brushing against the glossy skin.

There was a loud boom, the ground rumbling and the apples shaking on the trees.

Stiles froze.

He turned to look at Derek, his eyes wide with fear.

“What was that?” Stiles asked quietly.

They turned, their eyes focused on the hill that encircled the valley as the hulking figure of a stone golem crested the hill.

“What the-?” Stiles gasped.

“Run!” Derek shouted, turning and running to Stiles’ side.

Stiles kicked up his heels and ran. His legs pedalled beneath him as he sprinted back down the path and towards the shore.

He stumbled about, the labyrinth of trees and lush greenery of the valley rushing past him and the pounding of blood in their ears drowning out the sounds of the golem that pursued them.

The ground shook beneath his feet as he sprinted up the hill and skidded down the slope towards the shore.

“Scott!” he called. “Allison!”

They turned around, their eyes growing wide as they watched Stiles and the Nutcracker run down the hillside with the thundering golem behind them.

“Holy shit,” Scott gasped.

Allison grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him towards a large boulder. She shoved him behind it and turned back to Stiles and the Nutcracker. “Over here!”

They ran to her side, skidding across the rocky shoreline and behind the shelter of the boulder.

The golem froze, the rocks that built his body grinding and groaning as the golem turned to look along the shoreline. The creature let out a frustrated howl. It bent over and picked up a large boulder, hurling it across the shore.

It crashed into the small boat Scott and Allison had been fixing.

“Shit,” Scott hissed.

The rock golem let out another horrific, ear piercing screech.

Stiles cupped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the word around him. But it had no effect, the piercing howl rolled though him, shaking his body. He dropped to his knees.

He felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder as bulky arms pulled him close.

The beastly howls died down and amongst the dwindling roar Stiles heard Allison gasp, “Look.”

He slowly blinked open his eyes and looked across the rocky beach.

The swirling flurries of snow fell around them, small figures emerging from between the snowflakes.

Stiles squinted to look at them.

“Ice sprites,” the Nutcracker whispered.

They twirled around the troop before gliding across the waters; the snow and falling ice bending to their will as they froze the waves. They leapt up into the sky and began to circle around the golem.

The creature swatted at them but they dipped and dived, avoiding his arms and gliding though the air.

“We’ve got to go before the ice sprites disappear,” Allison said hastily.

“How?” Scott asked. “The golem smashed our boat and the water is frozen.”

Stiles glanced across the shore to where the tethered horses thrashed about.

“I have an idea,” Stiles whispered.

He leapt from behind the boulder and sprinted across the rocky shore. He grabbed two of the horses, untying their reigns and letting them run back to camp before grabbing the other two. He guided them towards the edge of the frozen water, tying the leather cords to the rear half of the broken boat.

“Come on,” he shouted to the others.

They hurried over to his side, clambering into the broken hull as Stiles spurred the horses on.

The horses’ hooves thumped against the ice, sliding slightly as they found traction on the frozen waves.

The Nutcracker turned and looked over his shoulder at the thundering boom behind him. “Um… We’ve got a problem.”

They all glanced over their shoulder in time to see the rock golem walk towards the frozen waves.

“We’ve got nothing to worry about,” Scott said dismissively. “He’ll break right through the ice.”

The golem set his foot down, the ice crackling beneath the large boulder that formed its foot.

But it didn’t break.

“It seems the sprites did their job too well,” Allison muttered.

Derek spun around. He reached forward and pulled on the reigns, the makeshift sleigh pulling to a halt on the ice. He leapt out of the ship, stumbling as he found his footing on the frozen water. He drew his sword and ran back towards the charging golem.

“A sword isn’t going to do you any good,” Allison shouted after him.

“Nutcracker,” Stiles called, his voice laced with fear.

“Don’t worry,” the Nutcracker called back. “Wood floats, rock doesn’t.”

Derek raised his sword, plunging the blade into the ice.

Spider-webbing fissures radiated from the blade.

He drew his sword back and spun around, running back to cart.

“Go,” he shouted.

Allison took the reigns and spurred the horses on.

Derek leapt forward, grabbing the back of their sleigh.

Stiles reached back, grabbing Derek’s arms and pulling him into the broken boat.

They looked back over the ice, watching as the golem stalked forward. Its foot struck the broken ice.

It gave way beneath him, the stone golem plunging into the icy water.

It sank, letting out a horrific screech as the churning waves pulled the creature beneath the water.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh and sank into the curved hull of the ship. His back rested against the wood, his heart slamming against his ribs as he tried to draw in shaky breaths and calm his racing heart.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered.

“I’m okay,” Stiles muttered. “I just need a minute.”

Derek sat down beside him, reaching out and taking Stiles’ hand in his own. He bowed his head and let out a heavy sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, casting a glance at the Nutcracker.

“What if we don’t find the Fae Prince?” Derek asked.

“So what if we don’t?” Stiles said. “You’re the one who battled Deucalion’s army in the library, you fought off the soldier who attacked us, you defeated the golem, and you’re the one who got is this far, all without the Fae Prince.”

“Even so, Deucalion is too powerful to take on alone,” Derek replied. “Besides, we’ve got to find the Fae Prince if you’re to return home your normal size.”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, his voice drifting slightly. “Home…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you all a Happy New Year! All the best wishes for 2018, may all your dreams and aspirations come true. ^-^


	4. IV.

“Let me get this right,” Deucalion huffed, letting out another exaggerated sigh. “The Nutcracker destroyed the rock golem and got away unscathed.”

The timid mouse guard nodded hesitantly.

Deucalion screwed up his face in anger. “And where are they now?”

“On the way to the Fae Prince’s island, sir,” the guard answered.

“There is no Fae Prince!” Deucalion bellowed. He paused for a moment, sitting back in his throne and letting his shoulders drop. “But if the Nutcracker wants to believe in fairy tales, he’s about to find out that this one doesn’t have a happy ending.”

 

 

The sleigh slid across the ice, gliding through the low-hanging clouds that rolled across the cold water. A thin veil of misty water brushed across their skin, droplets of water gathering and dripping down their face.

Stiles shut his eyes, feeling the world wash over him.

“There,” he heard the Nutcracker call out.

He opened his eyes, watching as the misty veil parted to reveal an island.

Allison steered the sleigh towards the shore, the horses’ hooves thumping against the solid earth as the broken hull of the ship dragged along behind them.

A loud crack split the air.

Stiles spun around, watching as the icy caps of the water broke away, the clouds dissipating and the chunks of ice melting into the roaring waves.

“Looks like we made it just in time,” Allison said.

“And all thanks to the Nutcracker,” Scott added.

“Me?” the Nutcracker repeated, stunned.

“Your bravery is the reason we’re here,” Scott replied, a kind smile lighting his face.

The Nutcracker smiled bashfully, climbing out of the broken sleigh and holding his hand out to help Stiles onto solid ground. “I’m only half the reason.”

Stiles set his feet on the ground and glanced up, realising that Derek was looking at him. HIs eyes widened as he was taken aback slightly. Stiles shook his head and dismissively said, “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done a lot more than you’d think,” Allison said. “You warned us about the golem and put together the sleigh so we could escape.”

“And before that you took care of Isaac, made sure he wasn’t injured or scared, and protected him until we found somewhere safe for him,” Derek added. “You’re his hero. You’re our hero.”

“Let’s get going,” Allison encouraged, taking the lead and walking down the path that lead up to the luxurious castle.

“I’m not a hero,” Stiles whispered, watching the group walk on down the path. He felt his skin crawl with unease, his stomach tense and knotted with anxiety as he looked around.

Something was wrong.

It seemed too perfect. When everything else in this world was torn apart by war and drought, why was this island so pristine; the white pebbled path was made of fine marble, the bushes were flourishing and bundles of dainty, colourful flowers blossomed along the track.

Stiles watched as the others grew further away, his legs refusing to move after them. He watched as they walked up to the castle doors, lifted the large brass knocker and knocked. The doors opened and they entered.

Stiles felt his voice catch in his throat as he turned to shout after them, but it was too late. The wall of the castle fell away like a stage background held up on stilts and around them was a thick lattice of heavy iron bars.

The door slammed shut and the heavy iron latch fell into place. A flurry of bats swooped down, grabbing at the top of the cage with their elongated talons before flapping their wings and taking to the sky.

“No,” Stiles gasped.

He stumbled forward, but he was too late; they were gone.

Stiles fell to his knees, choking back his sobs as tears streamed down his mole-speckled cheeks.

“This is all my fault,” he muttered to himself, burying his face in his hands. “This is all my fault. What was I thinking?”

Stiles felt a soft breeze roll over him, carrying soft whispers with it. He lifted his face and looked at the approaching shape. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, the blur of light and colour coming into focus as he realised what he was looking at was a group of fairies carrying a garland of woven vines and flowers.

Stiles slowly rose to his feet, looking at the fairies with a confused expression. One flew forward and gently tugged at Stiles’ sleeve, guiding him forward before demonstrating that he was to sit on the woven vines like a swing.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked.

The little fairy nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. He turned around and lowered himself onto the seat. He braced his hand on the vines and held on as the fairies lifted him off of the ground and into the air.

He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he watched himself rise higher and higher. The wind blew through his hair, tousling his soft brown locks and leaving the fabric of his coat to billow around him.

 

 

The Nutcracker sat back against the wall, his body slumped against the stones, unmoving. The sparkle in his eyes was fading and he was beginning to look less animated and more like a doll.

“Show me your arm,” Scott encouraged.

The Nutcracker didn’t move.

Scott reached forward and lifted the Nutcracker’s arm, looking at the thick gash that the mouse’s blade had left behind. The open wound exposed the pale pine beneath, the grains coloured with red like blood and veins.

Scott sat back slightly and tore his sleeve off his arm. He wrapped it around the Nutcracker’s arm like a bandage and tied it off.

“Why?” the Nutcracker asked, his voice weak and distant.

“What?” Scott muttered.

The Nutcracker didn’t turn to look at him. “Why do you care?” he asked. “I’m just a chunk of wood.”

“No,” Scott whispered. “You’re my friend.”

The Nutcracker turned to look at Scott. “It’s my fault we’re here.”

“No one could have known they trapped the island,” Scott objected.

“That’s not what I meant,” the Nutcracker whispered. “All of this. It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Allison said, standing at the edge of their cage. She turned and looked at the two of them. “I’m done throwing blame around. We all know whose fault this is.”

“Prince Derek’s,” the Nutcracker muttered.

“No,” Allison said firmly. “This is the Mouse King’s fault. This is Deucalion’s fault. And when we get out of here, we’re going to stop him.”

“We can’t,” the Nutcracker whispered.

“We have to,” Allison replied, her voice filled with determination. “This has gone on too long.”

 

 

Stiles felt the toe of his shoe touch solid ground. He took a step forward and slipped out of the swing, landing on the small balcony of one of the castles rooms. He turned around and looked at the fairies.

“Thank you,” he whispered before pushing open the misted windows and disappearing into the darkness of the room.

He stayed low to the ground, hiding behind the railings and pillars of the higher walkways as he made his way around the castle, searching for Derek, Scott and Allison.

“More wood!” he heard Deucalion bellow, his voice deep and dark as he added, “I want this to be an unforgettable show.”

Stiles cautiously peered over the banister and watched as Deucalion ordered about the mice in that scurried about the courtyard.

“I want every last villager, fairy, and general trouble-maker rounded up to witness this,” he instructed, turning his glare to one of the guards.

They gulped and nodded. “I’ll get right on it, Sire.”

Stiles ducked behind the railing and made his way down a sheltered stairwell and down into the basement levels. He made his way through the maze of hallways that twisted and turned like a labyrinth.

He turned corner after corner until he ran into two guards.

He paused, staring at them before he broke the silence and said, “There you are! The King needs you right away in the courtyard. He said, if you don’t hurry, he’d – I can’t believe I have to say this – break off an extra large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish; the two guards shoved past him as they ran down the hallways and back up to the courtyard.

He exhaled and turned back to look at the door. He lifted the old brass key off of the hook that hung by the door. He fitted it into the lock and turned it, listening to the loud click. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into a large, empty room.

His brow furrowed with confusion as he looked around at the large cobblestone tiles that were laid out in a circle on the floor and spiralled around the walls and up to the roof.

“Why would the King post guards on an empty room?” he muttered to himself.

He took a step forward, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the distant sound of someone whispering his name reached his ears. He took another step forward, and another, cautiously pacing his way forward as he stretched his hand out before himself.

He took another step.

His hand hit something solid; an unseen barrier.

He held his hand in place, his fingers sprawled as if pressed up against a glass window. He looked up and around but there was no indication of how big the barrier was.

He stepped bac, hurrying over to the wall by the door and pulling the heavy torch from the iron bracket. He tightened his grip on it like a baseball bat and stepped forward, bracing himself before swinging.

The barrier shattered.

He lifted his arm to shield his face as shards of glass rained down around him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, lowering his arms and breathing a sigh of relief as he looked at Scott, Allison and Derek.

Scott charged forward, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding him close.

Stiles returned the hug but pulled back after a second. “We’ve got to get out of here. Deucalion’s building a bonfire and I don’t think he intends to heat the castle.” His eyes darted to the Nutcracker.

Allison and Scott nodded and hurried ahead. The Nutcracker followed after Stiles as they made their way back through the hallways and up onto the balcony that overlooked the courtyard.

Stiles froze, the sound of a child’s scream shattering the air.

He spun around, his eyes falling upon the small child that thrashed about in the arms of one of the guards, his sandy blonde curls bouncing about as tears streaked his cheeks.

“Isaac,” Stiles gasped.

“Fae Prince or no Fae Prince, this ends now,” Derek muttered. He rose to his feet and climbed up onto the railing, shouting, “Is this any way to run a kingdom, Mouse?”

Deucalion spun around, fixing his cold glare on Derek as his eyes caught a red glint. A wicked smile lifted the corners of his mouth, contorting his face into a maniacal grin as he snarled, “You’re just in time for your party.”

The Nutcracker dropped down into the courtyard, landing with a heavy thud.

One of the guards charged at him.

The Nutcracker dodged the mouse’s attack. He dove under their arm, grabbed their wrist and pulled the sword free of their grip. As the mouse spun around, he planted his boot it the gut and knocked them aside.

He turned back to Deucalion, his shimmering aventurine eyes focused as he said, “There’s more to being King than having a crown.”

“And suddenly you’re an expert?” Deucalion sneered. He cast the sceptre out to the side, the decorative vines belting into the body of the sceptre as it morphed into a golden blade. Deucalion turned the sword about in his hand. “Fine, have it your way. If you care so much for these people, then fight for them. If you truly believe that you can sit on your father’s throne, then take back the crown.”

The Nutcracker charged forward, swinging his sword.

Metal crashed against metal, the sound ringing out through the castle as sparks flew about the courtyard.

The two moved back and forth, their feet shuffling about the cobblestones as they swung their blades about.

Deucalion lunged forward, his sword sliding up Derek’s arm, tearing through the bandage and knocking the sword free from his grasp.

Derek stared at the sword that was knocked free of his grasp, the blade clattering against the stones.

Deucalion took another step forward and swung his arm, the back of this hand thumping the side of the Nutcracker’s face and knocking him to the ground. He sauntered forward, smirking at the sight of Derek, wounded, dragging his body as he shuffled back across the courtyard. He raised his golden blade high in the air.

“No!” Stiles screamed, jumping down from the banister.

He landed with a surprising cat-like grace, his eyes focused on Deucalion.

A group of guards charged forward, their blades readied as they encircled the young man.

“No,” Deucalion said firmly, lowering his arm and stepping away from the Nutcracker. He tightened his grip on the sword, the shining blade shortening to a dagger. Deucalion narrowed his blood-thirsty glare on Stiles as he growled, “He’s mine.”

Deucalion lunged forward, brandishing his dagger and charging at the young man with a flurry of savage movements.

Stiles dodged to the side, quickly taking a step back as Deucalion slashed at his stomach; the blade narrowly missing his shirt. Stiles slammed his elbow into Deucalion’s shoulder.

The rat screamed in agony, drawing his breath through gritted teeth as his dark eyes burnt with rage. He spun around and backhanded Stiles across the courtyard.

Stiles’ back hit the concrete edge of the bonfire pit with a loud crack. He gasped in pain as his body hit the ground.

Deucalion stalked over to him.

“Do you know who I am?” Deucalion hissed. “I am the Alpha of all alphas. I am the apex of apex predators. I am death destroyer of worlds! I am-”

“You’re a drama queen,” Stiles interrupted, smiling mischievously.

Deucalion’s expression fell.

“I’m tired of this,” he said bluntly, raising his sword high above his head.

Stiles watched as the golden blade caught the light of the bonfire, gleaming like a falling star. He let out a heavy sigh and let his eyes fall shut as the sword came down.

He felt a rush of cool air as a shadow passed over him.

He heard the blade tear through flesh but he felt no pain.

Slowly, he blinked open his eyes, looking up at the shadowed figure that hunched over him, the sword driven through his back.

“No,” Stiles gasped.

Deucalion drew his sword back and Stiles caught the Nutcracker as he fell forward. Stiles rolled aside, gently laying the Nutcracker back against the smooth cobblestones. “No, no, no.”

“It’s okay,” the Nutcracker rasped, the light fading from his eyes. “After all, I’m just a piece of wood.”

“No,” Stiles whispered, his chest aching as the Nutcracker’s arms fell to his side. “No, please… Derek?”

He lay still, unmoving and lifeless in Stiles’ arms.

Tears blurred his vision, bursts of light streaking his vision as he felt a mix of despair and rage burn in his veins.

Deucalion stalked forward, sword raised.

Trails of glittering tears streaked Stiles’ cheeks as he let out a heart-breaking cry. His scream shook the world around him, a blinding wave of light erupting from around him and sweeping through the castle.

Stiles’ cry died down to a broken sob, heavy tears burning his eyes as he blinked them free. He felt the strange warmth of power flowing through his veins as he turned to look at where Deucalion had stood.

The Mouse King was gone – obliterated – and where he stood was a pile of ash which the breeze swept away, the gleaming crown and the golden sceptre.

Stiles turned back, looking down at the body in his arms.

The wooden shell was cracked, falling away and disintegrating into glittering embers. Beneath it was a man; one of flesh and blood.

His dark hair was cut short and tousled by the soft breeze. A shadow of a beard framed his jaw. He blinked open his eyes, looking up at Stiles through his lashes. The colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused.

“Stiles?” he whispered.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief and smiled back.

Around them, they heard the surprised whispers of the villagers, “It’s Prince Derek.” One by one, they began to applaud.

Stiles helped Derek to his feet.

He stepped aside, picking up the crown that laid on the ground. He turned back to Derek and set it atop of his head.

Derek smiled down at him.

“Your majesty,” Stiles whispered, bowing slightly.

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but his words fell short. The world around them began to glitter as the enchantments were broken.

They looked about the place, watching as the dull grey bricks of the castle were brought to life: the white marble imbedded with seams of grey and silver. The flames of the bonfire erupted in sparks as the piled wood crumbled to cinders and revealed a gleaming fountain. Curtains of azure water flowed through the fountain, glittering in the daylight.

“Whoa,” Stiles gasped.

“It makes sense,” Derek muttered.

“What?” Stiles asked, turning to look at Derek.

“The Fae Prince was with us the whole time,” Derek answered.

“What do you mean?”

“You, Stiles. You’re the Fae Prince,” Derek explained.

“Me?” Stiles repeated, stunned. “No…”

“But it all makes sense,” Derek insisted. “You stood before the Mouse King’s army in your library, you followed us into an unfamiliar land, you helped Isaac and saved us from Deucalion’s dungeon. Your bravery, kindness and power led to his defeat.”

Stiles opened his mouth to object when a small group of fairies flew over to their side and set a crown of woven flowers – wolfsbane, violets, irises, lilies of the valley, and daisies – atop of Stiles’ tousled hair.

Derek picked up the golden sceptre and handed it to Stiles.

Stiles took the sceptre from Derek, feeling the familiar weight rest in the palm of his hand as the bright blue sapphire lit up.

Derek’s smile grew wider, his eyes glittering as he looked at Stiles lovingly.

Around them the villagers began to dace and sing, the castle brightened by the festivities.

Scott and Allison rushed over to their side.

“It’s you,” Scott gasped, staring at Derek in amazement. “It’s really you.”

“Hello, my friend,” Derek greeted.

Scott wrapped his arms around Derek and hugged him tight.

Allison stood back a step. As Scott let go of Derek and stepped aside, Allison whispered, “I’m so sorry… about everything I said.”

Derek smiled sweetly and shook his head.

He said something, but Stiles didn’t hear it.

From somewhere in the distance, Stiles hear the loud chiming gong of a grandfather clock.

“Stiles?” Derek called, his voice interrupting Stiles’ thoughts.

Stiles turned to look at him, his chest aching as he felt his heart breaking.

Derek met his gaze.

He didn’t need to explain, the look on Derek’s face made it clear that he knew what happened next.

Derek’s eyes were full of sorrow and loss as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles looked around at the festivities and smiled. He turned back to Derek, smiled and asked, “Save me a dance?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Derek promised.

Stiles felt his body drift through oblivion, the world fading away from him.

He was submerged in darkness for a moment, his body falling into the nothingness.

His eyes flew open wide as he bolted upright. His suit was gone and he wore his old pyjamas; the old plaid pyjama pants and his dad’s BHPD shirt. He frantically looked around and found himself sitting in the window seat in the library, the glass misted with ice as snowflakes danced through the air outside.

He was home.

He felt the smile fall from his face as he glanced down at the box that sat beside him, the one that had once held the Nutcracker but was not empty.

Stiles let out a deep sigh, closed the lid on the empty box and ignored the feeling of emptiness that settled into his chest as he made his way out of the library and back to his room. He set the box down on his bed and got dressed, getting ready for the day.


	5. V

Time seemed to pass so slow, and yet Stiles didn’t notice the hours ticking away.

Christmas Day was better than he had expected; probably because his grandma had added a little more alcohol to the eggnog and left his grandpa too drunk to pick a fight. His grandmother kept the Sheriff company, talking quietly as they ate breakfast, opened their presents, greeted guests and sat down for lunch.

Despite the laughter, presents, company and smiling faces, Stiles didn’t feel the cheer; his mind drifted back to the world of magic and wonder, back to Derek.

He heard his grandpa put on an old record, staggering slightly as he sauntered over to his wife and bowed.

She laughed and joined him, the two of them swaying back and forth as they danced to the sweet melody of the song.

Stiles watched them, his smile falling from his face.

“Care to dance?” a familiar voice asked

Stiles bolted upright and spun around to look at the man who was standing by his side, his hand outstretched to Stiles.

The man had been introduced to him as the nephew of his grandfather’s wealthy associate, Peter Hale, but Stiles couldn’t remember his name.

His dark hair was cut short and tousled by the soft breeze. A shadow of a beard framed his jaw. He blinked open his eyes, looking up at Stiles through his lashes. The colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused.

Stiles blinked, confused. “Me?”

The man smiled, his aventurine eyes catching the light.

Suddenly, it hit him.

Derek noticed and chuckled softly. He glanced down for a moment before looking back up at Stiles with a mischievous smile as he whispered, “I did promise I’d save you a dance.”

Stiles smiled, gently scooting back his chair as he rose to his feet and took Derek’s hand.

Derek led him out into the centre of the room, pulling Stiles close as they began sway back and forth.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
